Archive of Our Own

Minho thinks he’s plenty happy.

He’s studying what he loves, he has a job at a cute little bookstore just a handful of blocks away from his apartment, which is a decent place for the price. He’s happy staying home and binging shows that he illegally streams when his friends are out with their significant others. He’s happy to cook meals for himself and then eat cold leftovers the next morning. He is perfectly happy taking naps when the quiet in his apartment gets a little too loud.

He’s very happy, but not happy enough, according to Bang Chan.

Apparently Minho is lonely.

Minho doesn’t exactly know how Chan has deduced that, because it’s very very false, but arguing with Chan takes more energy than Minho is willing to spend.

He thinks about maybe throwing something at him when Chan says he’s sent the information of the empty apartment unit above Minho’s to a friend of his.

He says something about maybe this being the fix to Minho’s lonely sad eyes.

Minho doesn’t know what those are, but he does know that he certainly does not have them.

The cure to Minho’s lonely sad eyes is apparently some boy who catches Minho off guard by yelling at him to hold the elevator door. Minho nearly drops his bag in shock but keeps the doors open until the newcomer is inside, because he’s not a horrible person who’d make the guy wait.

Minho side eyes the other passenger and blushes when he realizes he’s being blatantly stared at.

“Do you live here?”

Minho nods a little too robotically, suddenly feeling shy. He hates feeling shy and often masks it with aggression, but he can’t seem to find the energy to do so now.

“That’s sweet, I moved in this morning. I’m Jisung, Han Jisung.”

Minho blinks slowly, finally putting it together. “You’re Chan’s friend, aren’t you?”

Jisung’s eyes widen in recognition, “Yeah, so you must be Minho, right? You’re a floor down from me.”

Minho glances Jisung up and down, wanting to roll his eyes at the absolute lack of color he’s wearing. When his eyes catch on the lanyard sticking out of Jisung’s pocket and his worst fears are confirmed, he nearly groans.

ΔΣΙ

So Jisung is a frat boy.

Disgusting.

“Delta Sigma Iota? You must have known Chan for a while then, he moved out of the house over a year ago.” Chan's leaving the fate of Minho's lonely sad eyes to some frat boy?

Jisung glances down at the lanyard and then back up to Minho. “We actually met through classes, he’s a student advisor for my department.”

Minho nods, unsure of what to say. So this Han Jisung makes music, wears all black, and is in Chan’s frat.

No wonder Chan likes him.

“He said you dance?” Jisung is looking at him with possibly the darkest eyes Minho has ever seen, and he looks a little too good with his blond hair falling into his eyes and skin tinted pink from the cold weather outside. He has the appearance of someone high school aged Minho might have wanted to approach and maybe even flirt with. But college-aged Minho is tired and hungry and has absolutely no interest in chasing pretty boys around. Still, Jisung is staring at Minho, deep and contemplative, like Minho is an equation he wants to solve.

The strange quiet between them disappears as soon as the elevator comes to a halt and dings, announcing their arrival at Minho's floor.

Minho rushes out the door with a hurried goodbye and doesn’t dare turn around.

They fall into a strange relationship - something beyond acquaintances but not quite true friends either. But enough of a companionship builds for Minho to himself standing just inside Jisung’s apartment, staring Jisung himself down. The boy is swaddled in blankets on his couch with his laptop open on the coffee table, playing some movie Minho can't quite place. His nose is red and his eyes are droopy, and suddenly the mail in Minho’s hand feels like a brick because he wants to do something for Jisung, who looks to be half way to death’s door. He’s not quite sure why, but before Jisung can question anything about Minho’s sudden appearance in his apartment, Minho has set the handful of mail down on the table and retreated to the kitchen, where he begins rummaging through the cabinets.

“Could you…” the rasp of Jisung’s voice is cut off by a harsh cough and Minho cringes. His fingers close around a can of chicken soup and he sighs in relief, glad he’s not making a total fool of himself for going through Jisung’s things without purpose. “Why are you here?”

“Your mail built up in your box over the past days until the postman couldn’t fit anything else in. I caught him downstairs today and told him I’d take everything to your apartment. An act of kindness or whatever. Both the mail delivery and making sure you hadn’t died.”

“You do care!” Jisung’s teasing is cut short by another ugly cough. “But what are you doing now?”

Minho digs around in the drawers until he finds a can opener and a bowl. After prying the top off, he unceremoniously dumps the soup into the bowl and sticks it into the microwave, all with practiced ease. He's a bit too used to making microwavable meals for himself. “I don’t know you that well, but I'm positive you have either not eaten in forever or are eating junk food in mass.”

“How would you know that? I’m very healthy.”

Minho opens the lid of Jisung’s trash bin to throw away the can and rolls his eyes at the empty packages of various candies and chips. “Lucky guess.”

The timer goes off and Minho takes the soup from the microwave, wrapping the bowl in a hand towel and finding a spoon. Jisung accepts the food with a grateful smile to which Minho frowns back, trying to fight down a blush because Jisung’s smile is heart-shaped and suits him unfairly well. “Do you have cough medicine? You should take something after you eat so you don't die right here.”

Jisung rolls his eyes but tells him to search the bathroom cabinet and Minho eagerly goes, wanting to get away from the ridiculousness of his thoughts.

He finds the medicine fairly easily and goes about setting two pills and a glass of water in front of his neighbor, all without once looking at Jisung. It turns out to be a feat because as Jisung eats he asks Minho little questions about his day, and Minho surprisingly does want to answer them. But he doesn’t because being friends with Jisung will only make him want more, which he absolutely cannot wish for.

Lee Minho is perfectly happy. He doesn’t need two people to fill his loveseat, not when he can drape himself across the couch.

Absolutely not pitiful.

(jisung is close to sleep when minho finishes washing up the dishes and comes back. he decides to fool minho and he keeps his eyes barely open, appearing asleep. minho looks at him and then the door, his lower lip caught between his teeth as if he’s making a choice that will change the fate of the world. he appears like he wants to stay with how he’s looking back towards jisung, but he chooses to escape instead.

when the door closes behind his neighbor, jisung sits up with a sigh. he wonders if he’ll ever get to witness lee minho’s smile; the one chan says is so nice.)

The next time Minho interacts with Jisung, aside from the brief greetings exchanged when they pass in the hallway, is at nearly midnight on a Thursday evening. Minho is in bed trying to sleep, a pillow over his head, but the strength of the reverberations from the bass echoing from the apartment above is far from a bedtime lullaby.

Jisung has been playing an EDM playlist for a while now and try as he might, Minho can’t grow accustomed to the sound. Sleep is eluding him and it’s all Han Jisung’s fault.

Minho considers shouting up to Jisung, but he’s probably unable to hear anything from being at the source of the music. So Minho throws his covers off of his body, grabs his slippers and a warm fleece jacket, and stops out of his apartment.

He’s glaring ferociously when Jisung opens his door and he can tell Jisung is taken aback by his arrival and glower, but not truly impacted like he’d hoped.

“Do you need something?”

“‘m trying to sleep, please turn it down,” Minho attempts to demand, but his voice turns whiny towards the end as he’s nearly about to pass out right in the hallway from exhaustion. It’s been a rough week and pressure of school and work and money is pressing down hard on his shoulders.

Jisung smirks a little at Minho’s tone but tilts his head as an invitation to come in as he crosses to his stereo system and turns the music off. Minho follows him, closing the door behind them and making a beeline to the couch in the center of the room. He flings himself down onto the cushions, ignoring Jisung’s laughter.

After a few moments something starts playing in the silence the disappearance of the EDM had left. It’s soft, just the quiet strum of an acoustic guitar, and the voice accompanying it is equally gentle. It lulls Minho into a feeling of contentment and safety, even though he’s only been in Jisung’s place once before and he hardly knows the boy himself.

“I take it you’re staying here tonight,” Jisung says, suddenly crouched in front of Minho so they’re at eye level. Minho should reply but he can’t stay awake - he’s already partly unconscious and Jisung is blurry in his vision. He feels Jisung taking off his slippers and then the weight of a blanket over him. Not seconds later, he’s drawn into dream land.

(jisung smiles at minho who is fast asleep, curled up on his couch. he feels guilty for keeping him awake and whispers an apology, hoping that maybe minho will hear his voice in his dreams.)

As winter ends and spring comes around, the first school break of the new year arrives. Minho packs a suitcase and prints his plane ticket, then hops aboard a bus headed to the airport. This is nothing new to him but traveling never ceases to make him nervous, so he cowers in the back of the bus, wishing he was back at home.

“Minho?”

Minho blinks in surprise at the voice, and when he looks up his neighbor is standing in the aisle between the rows of seats, a dark hoodie pulled up over his hair and fingers clasping the straps of the bag slung over his back. Minho tenses up further when Jisung sits down in the empty spot next to him, his bag falling to rest in his lap. “Jisung? What are you doing here?”

“I’m using public transport, like you,” Jisung says cheekily, grinning at Minho. He looks completely at ease, not at all like he’s just crashed into the middle of Minho’s messy thoughts. “Now it’s my turn. Why are you frowning so, pretty boy?”

“Jisung,” Minho hisses when he’s gotten past mouthing the name like an idiot as he tries to process that yes, Han Jisung has managed to catch him completely off-guard.

Jisung, the bastard, does nothing but laugh.

“I’m going back to Korea for break,” Minho tells Jisung later, when the movement of the bus has made him drowsy and more open than he should be. “My mom lives there. I go back and see her every once in a while but it’s always awkward. My dad is the one who was with me while I grew up, after they separated and we moved. Mom is just...a woman I hardly know. Maybe one day I’ll want a relationship with her but not right now. Is that mean?”

Jisung shrugs, his hand settling onto the space just above Minho’s knee as some act of solidarity. Minho finds it more comforting than he should. “I don’t know anything about your family but you should do what you’re comfortable with. Don’t force yourself to do more than you’re ready for.”

Minho lets the words sink in. They’re simple but true, and he decides to appreciate Jisung for them. “Thanks, I’ve been nervous.”

Jisung takes Minho’s hand, making Minho flinch, but his thumb rubs along the edge of Minho’s palm which soothes him from the reflex. “I can tell,” Jisung murmurs, looking at Minho’s nails, all of which he’s bit down to the quick. “Here, one sec.”

Jisung digs through his bag and comes back with a scotch tape roll. Minho frowns but watches silently as Jisung makes a small roll of tape, the sticky side out. “This is what I do when I get nervous or stressed over a song,” Jisung tells him, and he pinches the tape between his thumb and first finger. “Try it?”

Minho takes the tape from Jisung and plays with it, getting used to the feel of the tape grabbing at his skin. “It works for you?”

“Mhm.” Jisung is leaning close, their faces just inches apart as they watch Minho fiddle with the tape. “It’s worth trying to see if it works for you, so take this.” He places the tape roll on Minho’s lap with a smile. “Come back and tell me your review.”

Minho blinks up at him, wondering when exactly Jisung turned from frat boy who makes music into something that feels a little too warm and familiar.

(minho falls asleep against jisung’s shoulder, and waking him up when they get to the airport is the most painful thing Jisung has had to do. his heart breaks watching minho’s soft, unworried, sleepy expression shift to one of tension and fear.

minho doesn’t question jisung about why he rode all the way to the airport with him. he doesn’t ask why jisung walks him in and then goes to the desk to get a pass so they can go to minho’s gate together. and jisung isn’t worried if this all becomes a blur in minho’s mind - he doesn’t need to stand out as the hero who held minho’s hands to keep them from shaking or as the one who stayed at the gate until the plane was in the air. jisung doesn’t need to be remembered.

a week later, when minho rings jisung’s doorbell and runs, leaving behind a strawberry rhubarb pie and a card with thank you for helping me written on the inside, jisung realizes two things. the first is being remembered does feel nice. his second realization is that he’s really screwed himself over with this one.)

Somehow, Jisung finds his way into Minho’s full, extended group of friends. It has something to do with him being a junior to Chan in some class, and Changbin is also involved, but Minho doesn’t bother knowing exactly how. His main concern is to hide his sudden interest in knowing more about the boy; he can only ask each of his friends so much as to not make them suspicious of ulterior motives. Because they won't believe that Minho doesn’t want anything more than knowledge of his admittedly objectively good looking and unfairly kind neighbor.

The fact that he likes to look at Jisung because he is kind of hot is completely irrelevant.

So is the way Minho’s heart acts up when Jisung sends him even the briefest of smiles or when he remembers Jisung’s hold on him throughout the airport.

It’s all far from being relevant.

And so Minho’s life continues on, but now he has a new number saved in his phone and a friend that will rarely pass up a chance to grab coffee with him.

Jisung is strangely attentive towards Minho, and Minho likes to pretend that somehow he’s more important to Jisung than the others. Jisung picks up on Minho’s changes in emotions and, much to Minho’s horror, seems to have discovered that Minho likes to look at him. Objectively. And further, he’s developed a handful of pet names to throw at Minho when he least expects them. Exhibit A being now.

“Princess,” Jisung croons, leaning over Minho’s table at the library to pluck the book Minho had been reading from his hands.

“Stop,” Minho whines, thankful for the heavy shadows in the building that have disguised his unnecessary blush that has appeared upon hearing the name. He grabs for his book but Jisung holds it out of reach, sitting on the table with one foot still on the ground and his torso turned towards Minho. “Why are you even here?”

“I was missing you,” Jisung states, coming off as completely serious, but Minho can see the mirth dancing in his eyes. He sets the book down behind him and raises an eyebrow when Minho doesn’t lunge for it and instead sits, resigned.

“What do you want from me today?” Minho deadpans, peering up at Jisung. He’s dressed in familiar all black, but today Minho is graced with a view of his sides, as the cut of his muscle tee is generous. He’s recently dyed his hair back to it’s original black from blond and Minho wants nothing more than to fix the strands that are ruffled where Jisung’s backwards cap sits.

“I’ve been sent on a mission from our dearest friend Chan.”

Minho snorts.

“He’s requested that I drag you out to eat, because he says during exam season you get caught up and often forget that your body does indeed need fuel, real fuel that isn’t caffeine.”

“You’ve got the low down, hm?” Minho runs a hand through his hair, finally taking note of his hunger that’s stirring low in his belly. “Okay, buy me something to eat.”

“Pack up your stuff, pretty boy. That was the second part of the mission - dislodge you from the library.”

Minho groans but easily gives in. He concludes that he just doesn’t feel like fighting this. It’s absolutely not that he’s giving in so that he can spend a bit more time with Objectively Beautiful Han Jisung.

The walk to the strip mall just off campus is rather pleasant; Jisung goes on some tangent about his music tastes and certain artists and Minho pretends to listen, but only so he has the chance to look over at Jisung. He throws in a nod every once in a while to do his part.

Jisung seems to be completely in his element; his hands flying about as he talks animatedly about various things that Minho can’t quite comprehend. It’s nice to see Jisung so happy, and Minho smiles along with the other boy as they find their way into a crappy little restaurant that’s sure to give them food poisoning if nothing else.

When Jisung leans across the table to brush a crumb from Minho’s lips, Minho wonders if this is a date. He finds himself wishing, but he knows deep down that it isn’t, no matter how much he likes to think Jisung looks at him a little different than he looks at anyone else.

(after so many good moments with minho, jisung finds he doesn’t mind keeping his secret; chan hadn’t sent him. he had just overheard chan talk about minho’s lifestyle during exam season a few weeks back and the words stuck.

jisung is teased for the way he treats minho but he doesn’t know how else to be with the boy without scaring him away. minho lives with so many emotions kept secret from the world and jisung wants to uncover them all; to truly know who lee minho is. lee minho who jisung desperately wants to call his shy, pretty dancer.)

Maybe it’s the time Jisung shows up at Minho’s apartment in the middle of the night, drunk off his ass, while clutching a small potted bamboo plant to his chest. He greets Minho in a flurry of giggles and Minho is able to piece together that the plant is a gift for him. Minho turns to thank him but Jisung is already hurriedly shoving the plant into Minho’s hands and stumbling to the kitchen where he vomits into the garbage can before Minho can open his mouth.

When Minho’s cleaned him up and Jisung is passed out across Minho’s couch, he looks at the bamboo he’d discarded on the counter when he’d gone to help Jisung. It’s admittedly a cute little plant; the pot is a pale ceramic blue and while the bamboo looks a bit peaky, Minho decides with certainty he can bring it back to full health.

He glances over at the couch, deciding that in the morning he’ll do the same for Jisung.

Or perhaps it’s when Minho has reached his breaking point with the stress of school and finds himself in the studio where he knows Jisung spends the majority of his time. Jisung is talking to a few people when Minho pushes the door open but somehow quickly ends the conversation and sends everyone out when he sees how hard Minho is trying to hold back his tears.

Minho pushes all his dignity aside and settles onto Jisung’s lap, the swiveling desk chair groaning under their mixed weight. Even if he’s shocked, Jisung doesn’t do anything besides grip Minho’s waist and let Minho hide away in the safety of the space between his neck and shoulder. And he doesn’t ask questions when Minho eventually slides from his lap, apologies tumbling from his lips.

When he finally does move on his own it’s only to pull Minho back onto his thighs. When he does speak, his fingers are running through Minho’s hair as the older presses his forehead to Jisung’s shoulder. He says nothing other than soft words of comfort, telling Minho that everything will be okay, and that he’ll always be here for him.

Maybe it’s somewhere in all those times Minho catches Jisung’s gaze across a room full of their friends, or across a hall full of students. Those times when Jisung is looking solely at him, even when they’re surrounded by others.

Minho isn’t sure exactly when it is that he falls in love. Maybe it’s a moment. Maybe it’s over time. But he’s never felt anything as strongly as he does this pull to Jisung. Han Jisung who dresses in almost nothing but black and packs an alarming amount of rings onto his fingers. Han Jisung who has a pretty heart-shaped smile and a guitar case slung over his shoulder. Han Jisung who plays obnoxiously loud EDM music and also shows up at Minho’s door with Lucky Bamboo as a spur of the moment gift. Han Jisung who writes about struggle and love and everything in between.

Minho wonders when Han Jisung became the favorited contact in his phone.

Minho wonders when he started to smile unconsciously every time he hears his name.

Knowing Jisung as well as he does by now Minho should have expected it, but on Valentine’s Day he’s taken aback by the sight of Jisung on his doorstep holding a generous bouquet of red roses. When Minho’s gaze travels from the flowers to Jisung’s face, Jisung is grinning broadly at him, looking smug beyond comparison.

“What are you doing?”

Jisung’s smirk deepens. “Roses are red, violets are b—”

Minho slams the door shut in Jisung’s face. His heart is pounding like it might burst right from his chest but he forces himself to focus and think for a moment. Did Jisung really buy him flowers?

Minho opens the door to find Jisung still standing there, like he'd expected for Minho to reappear. When he hears the door creak he looks up, smiling, only for the bouquet to be swept from his hands into Minho’s own.

“You brought me flowers?” Minho mumbles out, bringing the bouquet up so he can smell the roses and hide his growing blush.

“Of course. My princess deserves all the flowers in the land.”

Minho’s breath catches at the possession in Jisung’s words. It warms him, making him feel ridiculously safe and vulnerable. He knows he’s becoming completely pliant to Jisung.

“Do you...do you want to come in?” Please come in, Minho wishes he could say, but his fingers only tighten around the paper and stems of the bouquet.

Jisung’s hand darts up to adjust his beanie, a tick Minho has noticed throughout their time together. It usually means he’s worried or nervous about something, and instantly Minho is put off. “I’m sorry, baby, but I have something I need to do.”

Minho thinks about how cruel it is for Jisung to call him baby in the middle of a rejection, no matter how insignificant. Jisung must read Minho’s expression because his eyes soften and he steps closer, raising a hand to brush Minho’s bangs from his eyes. “You look so pretty today, all dolled up. I could look at you forever.”

Minho can hardly breathe, Jisung’s words and the warmth of his hand still grazing his cheek making him dissolve into a useless mess. He knows he does look more put together than normal, with the nice cream sweater and a few touches of makeup added to his eyes. He had been hoping that by some miracle Jisung would come and see him today.

“Jisung—” Minho’s call of his name is too breathy and too abrupt, and Jisung notices this with a slight smile.

Jisung presses both his hands around Minho’s shaking ones so that he doesn’t drop the flowers, and Minho is hit with the realization that Jisung is aware of how he makes Minho feel. It’s not a new thought, no, Jisung has teased him to get reactions like this before, but it’s all the more apparent now when they’re standing at the threshold of Minho’s apartment on a holiday meant for celebrating love, and Minho feels like he’s seconds away from melting here at Jisung’s feet.

“You should head inside, Minho.” Jisung’s voice and gaze are equally gentle but it still feels like a punch to the gut, especially when there’s no baby or princess attached to the end.

“Fine,” Minho huffs, regaining some of his control and pulling away from Jisung so his hands fall from his own. “See you around, I guess.”

He doesn’t stick around to see Jisung’s reaction to any of his actions and instead closes the door to his apartment, letting out a breath when there’s once again a wall between him and Jisung.

He finds a tall glass to put the roses in, and as he places every stem into the water he imagines what Jisung must have been thinking while buying the roses. Flowers are expensive - Jisung must have bought them for someone important. Did he get rejected and give the roses to Minho as whoever they were meant for didn’t want them?

Minho decides something like that must be it.

He stalks back to his couch and throws himself down, resuming the position he’d been in before the solicitation at his door. After a few minutes of sulking his phone vibrates on the cushion next to him, and he picks it up, smiling slightly at the contact, even as he’s meant to be upset.

[ han (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ ]
do me a favor?

Minho frowns.

[ min (◕◡◕✿) ]
what

[ han (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ ]
check your doormat
please
i’ll be sad if you don’t

[ min (◕◡◕✿) ]
you’re so weird
i thought you were busy
and what’s wrong with my mat?

The last messages are a bit harsher than Minho had intended, but his heart is knocking painfully against his ribcage because of the hurt he shouldn’t even be feeling.

He’s nothing besides a friend to Jisung. Jisung should be nothing but a friend to him.

[ han (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ ]
patience, baby.
i never said what i needed to do didn’t involve you

Minho’s throat feels constricted and his breathing is cut short as Jisung’s words sink in. Jisung thinks about him enough to come up with some plan for him on Valentine’s Day?

Without a second thought Minho launches from the couch and pulls open his front door. A part of him had been hoping Jisung would be standing on the mat, but instead there’s a crisp white envelope with Princess scrawled on the front in familiar handwriting. Rolling his eyes at the name, Minho picks up the card and shuts the door. Pulling it from the envelope, Minho finds the card inside to be a classic Valentine’s theme with a plethora of hearts printed on the front. Inside the card is blank, save for the message written along the right side.

Minho,
Since we first met I’ve pushed a lot of things aside and I think it’s time to get them off my chest. Or at least the most pressing one.
Over these past months I’ve grown to care for you a lot as a friend and somewhere along the way those emotions shifted into something more.
So, if you aren't upset with what I’ve written so far, I’d like to see you tonight. If you are, please don’t run. At least talk to me tomorrow, please. Maybe this is selfish, but I’m scared to lose you over my feelings.
I’ll be on the fire escape with dinner (gyros, your favorite) if you’d like to come.
Jisung

Minho gapes at the note. There’s no way it’s real; he’s pined too much. This has to be something his brain has conjured up.

But somehow he finds himself depositing the note on the kitchen counter and hurrying to his window to push it open. He scoots through and onto the metal stairwell, wincing a bit at the height when he glances down at the street below. When he looks up, however, he sees a body.

It can’t be real.

His footsteps ring loud on the metal as he climbs up to Jisung’s story, and when he reaches the landing he freezes, suddenly scared. Jisung is here; he's sitting on the edge of the platform with his legs dangling down, staring off into space. He’s still in the maroon hoodie he’d been wearing earlier, a pleasant change of color from his normal attire. The hood is drawn up, obscuring his hair, and Minho knows that it’s for protection more than anything else.

Jisung is scared, he realizes.

Because this is real and Jisung has told Minho his feelings and is now preparing himself for a rejection.

As if anyone in their right mind would reject Han Jisung.

When Minho climbs the stairs and sinks down to sit beside Jisung he feels the boy’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t glance over. He might fall apart at the overwhelming feelings if he does more than one thing at once.

“Minho?”

“Jisung…” Minho forces himself to answer and look up, meeting Jisung’s startled expression. He supposes startled is better than worried, and a twinge of relief hits him. “You like me?”

Something must give away Minho’s eager acceptance because Jisung is smiling, his fear gone, and his hands are taking Minho’s. “Silly princess. I’m surprised you hadn’t figured it out already, I’m not exactly subtle with the way I treat you.”

Minho knows he’s blushing but he can’t find anywhere to hide his face, not when Jisung has his hands. “You know I’m oblivious sometimes.”

“I was worried that you wouldn’t come,” Jisung murmurs, rubbing the pad of his thumb along the back of Minho’s hand.

“Because I didn’t like you back?”

Jisung’s unforgiving smirk appears, “I know you like me, baby, you aren’t subtle either. I was just worried I’d scared you off with being forward in that note. You’re skittish, I didn’t want to come on too strong.”

“Shut up.” Minho is glowing red and pitches himself forward so he can hide his face against Jisung’s shoulder.

“You practically melt whenever I touch you,” Jisung teases, “how could I not notice?”

Minho whines at the words, pushing himself closer to Jisung and sneaking his arms around the other’s waist. “I’m that obvious?”

“Pretty transparent,” Jisung says, a laugh backing his words. “But I wouldn’t want you any different.”

“Han Jisung wants me,” Minho mumbles under his breath, his mind doing cartwheels as he struggles to process that this is real.

“I do.” Jisung’s cheek presses against the side of Minho’s head as he pulls Minho even closer by his waist. “I want to do all the cliche boyfriend-y things with you. I want to tell Chan to fuck off when he makes fun of me at for being so gone for you. Because I am yours. If you’ll have me.”

“You’re so stupid,” Minho tries to say because Jisung knows Minho won’t say no. Instead all he can manage is a quiet yes, want you into the thick fabric of Jisung’s hoodie. He’s caught between wanting to cry and wanting to smile; he doesn’t remember ever being this happy and it’s overwhelming.

“Take a breath, baby,” Jisung murmurs into his hair, and Minho wonders if Jisung can feel how frantically his heart is pulsing.

Minho closes his eyes and lets the warmth of Jisung’s body and hands seep through to him. He wonders if he will ever get used to being held like this; like Jisung is desperate to touch him and not let go but like he also wants to be careful and gentle, as if Minho is breakable.

He wants to know so badly what being loved by Jisung feels like, and he’s pretty sure he might just find out.

It’s not that night that Minho confesses his love. It’s on a chilly day, a few days later, when Jisung shows up in front of his lecture hall with a coffee and a shy smile. Minho breathes out love you against the shoulder of Jisung’s jean jacket when they’re wrapped in a hug. Jisung smiles against his neck.

Kissing Jisung is something Minho has wondered about for months, but the first time they kiss is just past two weeks after the fire escape confession. They’d been messing around in Minho’s kitchen, putting together a dinner, when Jisung had caught him off guard by backing him up against the counter.

Minho had floundered while Jisung simply smiled at him, waiting. Minho found it frightening at first, terrified of the feeling of his heart stopping when Jisung pulled him close and connected their lips. But now he follows that feeling as if Jisung’s kiss is a drug and the loss of control is the resulting high he’s so addicted to.

Minho still wonders sometimes how he’s ended up with Jisung. Han Jisung, the boy that walks the campus grounds dressed in all black with a guitar case hiked up over his shoulder. Han Jisung who writes light and dark and every shade in between. Han Jisung who has the prettiest smile and the deepest eyes.

But Jisung is his, and Minho doesn’t think he’ll ever revert to who he was before they first met.

(jisung knows what chan is going to say, but the words still make him grin like a fool.

“you’ve made him happy, sung. really happy.”)